Пуант», неожиданный поворот событий (Unexpected twist)

In the dingy second-floor office of Byars and Throckmorton, wholesale grocers, two men were sitting. An ancient gas chandelier flooded the room with a yellow flickering light which poured out through the doorway and partly down the narrow wooden stairs.

The night was warm. One of the occupants, a stout young man with a worried look, was continuously mopping his face with a wilted handkerchief. Suddenly he turned to his grey, angular companion.

“At twelve, you say?”

“For the tenth time - yes. Byars will appear at twelve. It’s as certain as ... death.”

“Couldn’t you have misunderstood him?”

“No, his voice was strong, even when he was dying.”

“Well, just what did he say? As you know, I was off, at school at the time.”

“I’ll repeat it once more,” said the thin man wearily. “He had them prop his great red head with a second pillow. Then he looked straight at me and said, ‘Throckmorton, remember that after my death I will continue to be a senior partner and direct the firm just as I have in life. And the first time you depart from one of my established policies, you’ll have me to deal 'with... that very night at twelve, in the office. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be there!’ well, this morning I violated one of those policies.”

“Why?”

“My wife had been making fun of me for being afraid of a dead man. For the first time in my life I came to the office angry instead of afraid. And I’m still defiant - enough to bring on a showdown. But I’m afraid to. That’s why I told you as much as I did this morning and asked you to be here. But I might add that I’m sorry I did - you seem to be more worried than I am.”

“It’s for another reason.”

The thin man eyed him narrowly.

“And I think I know what it is.”

The young man did not reply, but in his turn studied the other closely.

“So you really think he’ll be here?”

“Why not? Byars always did what he said he’d do.”

“But this is different. He’s in another place now: ‘the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.’”

“Who said that?”

“Hamlet.”

“Hamlet didn’t know Byars. After all, why shouldn’t it be possible for a person of vigorous personality to override the limitations of death?”

“What is death?”

For a moment the thin man groped for an answer.

“Death is a change in perspective.” -“But this is all so strange!”

“So was Byars. Man, I tell you there was no else like him in all the world. These 1890 fixtures, for instance, in this day and time. And the bookkeepers still sit on tall stools! And the man himself - great red beard, flowing red hair, piercing black eyes, booming voice - but why should I be telling you all this when you know him as well as I do, since he was your uncle.”

Young Byars looked at him pityingly.

“Throckmorton, maybe I shouldn’t be so candid about my uncle, but our family always saw Uncle John in an entirely different light from the way you do. To us he was a big ham-actor, a blustering bully who would terrorize anybody who would be terrorized, but an empty windbag to anyone who stood his ground - something you never did.”

“Your bread and butter wasn’t dependent on him.”

“Uncle John,” continued the young man, “was a paranoiac who did all your thinking for you. Unconsciously you regarded him as a father, and now that you’ve been a bad boy, you expect him to return and punish you.”

“You and your psychology! That’s what comes from running with that college professor, Pennington.”

“What’s more,” young Byars went on, “you have definite paranoiac leanings yourself. You think everybody is out to get you. And on the other hand - and I might as well be frank about it - you are trying to dominate me just as my uncle did you, a sort of revenge. Well, it won’t work. When I took over my uncle’s holdings, I became a partner in fact as well as in name.”

The thin man sat glowering and speechless. Then the young man said apologetically, “I’m sorry, Throckmorton, my nerves are strained too. Believe me, I have your best interests at heart.”

“Yes, I know,” answered the older man. “I guess that’s why you visited your psychologist friend this afternoon. I had the office boy trail you.”

“You do have a persecution complex!” .

“Let’s keep the subject on you. You and your psychologist are conniving to destroy my sanity so you can run things. Furthermore, you’ve rigged up some dirty trick for tonight.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“Mistaken nothing!” I saw you remove that snapshot of Byars from under the glass on the desk he used.”    ₍

“The one of him standing on the box at the businessmen’s outing, bellowing like a bull? Yes, I did. I was afraid it was affecting your mind, you kept looking at it so much.”

“Very nice of you! And you brought something up here this evening in a black box and hid it somewhere. Do you dare show me what it is?”

“There isn’t time.”

“And what was in the note Dr. Pennington’s son brought you just before quitting time?”

“There isn’t time to tell you.”

The thin man came to with a start. “What is the time?”

“Five minutes of twelve.”

“You know,” said the thin man thoughtfully, “what you said about my seeing Byars as a father may be right. My father was just such a man. Your facts are right although your motives are wrong. And somehow the truth is giving me courage.”

“Good,” said the young man, “and since I’m not supposed to be in the picture, I’ll hide in the background.”

“All right. And I’ll sit here facing the door, revolver in hand.”

“Revolver?”

“Yes, I know it’s useless but it somehow helps me.”

Young Byars arose and closed the door. “I’ve always wanted to see a ghost come through a door,” he explained humorously. He also snapped off the lights.

“Why did you do that?”

“You’ll see,” said the young man, making his way to the rear.

From somewhere came the sound of a clock striking the hour. The thin man jumped to his feet and leveled the gun at the door.

“Come on, Byars,” he called. “Come on. I’m ready for you this time. You thought you had me, mind, body, and soul. Well, you were never more..

Suddenly he stopped talking and stared:in amazement at the luminous figure before him, then burst into a peal of laughter.

The young m an sprang forward and snapped on the lights. When he turned he found himself covered by the revolver.

“Some people would kill you,” the thin riian gasped; “but really I can’t. You’ve saved my sanity - you and your silly post-card projector! From your angle, though, it’s a pity you made that silly mistake.” “Mistake? I made no mistake.”

“Look,” said the thin man, snapping off the lights, “he’s standing on his head - the funniest thing I ever saw!”     

“That’s no mistake. That’s the way I meant it”, explained the young man. “I wanted you to see Byars in a funny way for once in your life - just as our family always saw him.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Still suspicious, even of your friends! Well, here’s the note you asked to see abut a moment ago. Read it aloud.”

“’Good luck with the stunt,”’ read the thin man. “’It might help. And remember not to invert the photograph, since you want him standing on his head.’”

The older man put out his hand.

“Forgive me, my friend,” he said. “Thank you for what you’ve done for me. You were anxious for fear your little stunt would misfire. Well, it didn’t. Whenever I think of Byars now, it will be with him standing on his head, his big mouth open, and big feet high in the air!”

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